Feelings Are Fatal
by cadetcasper
Summary: As Ahiru is entering her third year of ballet school, she is beginning to realize how truly obscured everything feels. With Mytho already on stage and married at 20 and Fakir just starting his part time ambition in the ballet studio, Ahiru can't help but realize how small she feels. Without Mytho, she can already feel her feelings slipping to him and someone else. Maybe it's her im
1. Chapter 1

The classroom was an absolute flurry this morning. Ever since Fakir began teaching morning ballet, Lilie has been absolutely dumbfounded and swooning over him. It is not much of a surprise, though. Half the girls in the class have been falling to their knees just to get that boy to notice them. I heave as my bones and muscles start to ache, calling over Pike to my side. Her dark hair gleams a purple hue in the light let in through the windows of the studio. She gallops over, her pink unitard holding her body tightly, allowing every part of her to be seen rather well. Both Pike and Lilie had grown into gorgeous 16 year olds, while I seemingly stagnated at 12. With Pike, Lilie follows behind, though her eyes don't seem to leave Fakir. How innocent, I think to myself, that someone as hopelessly romantic can fall for a guy like him.

I wipe my brow, catching a quick glance at Fakir. He has aged gracefully; narrow green eyes like an untouched forest, a tall frame held nimble by slim and muscular legs, brown hair that pulled back nicely into a long ponytail. We catch eyes, though it is very brief before I look back at my assembly of friends. His stare still lingers uncomfortably behind me, though.

"Geez, Fakir is a tough guy to please, isn't he?" Pike finally speaks up between us all, despite me being the one who initially brought us together.

"I think I could be able to satisfy him. Besides, have you seen the way he dances? So full of angst..." Lilie seems to dwell her eyes on him as he leaves the class, his usual groupies flicking around him.

"He's just so uptight. Maybe he should learn that not everyone can perform such complex moves yet. I mean, we're third years, we've barely finished learning _grande jeté_." Pike adds, moving toward the doors into the hall.

"Yeah, but I think his heart is in the right place. He just wants us to do our best." I finally chime in. I remember how grouchy he was when we were first years, and how much distaste he had for anyone aside from himself and Mytho. We continue to chatter until we make it to our own respective rooms.

I pull down my blinds and flick on my light, switching out of my unitard and into my bath robe, though I immediately second guess my decision. The shower room will be swarming with girls after practice, and I'm not particularly comfortable being surrounded by other nude girls who are vastly more developed than me, seeing as I still look like a nymphette rather than a maturing girl. I hover in front of my door, considering my options.

 _The bathhouse!_ Of course, how could I forget? The bathhouse was rather new, and no one really used it because it's a more japanese commodity, and not used by many of the other students, making it perfect for my socially anxious conscience. I pull open my door with my hand gently bracing my towel to my chest.

Making my way only halfway down the hallway, I stop and stare at the bathhouse door, making sure no one is going in. After a couple minutes of no one going in or out, I proceed and enter into the dressing room. The warm wave of air hits me so softly, lingering over my entire body as I close the door behind me. I make sure to have the door close as softly as possible, while walking to one of the many lockers, discarding of my slippers and robe, only my towel clutching tightly to my breast.

I make my way over to the actual door holding in the bathhouse, and open the room to myself, steam seeping out around me. I step in, and observe for a long moment. The bath is large, enough to fit at least 20 people, and it seems to be completely void of anyone else. I let it a sigh of relief, and pull my hair out of its bun, instead wrapping it up into the towel so it won't get wet in the bath. Slipping down into the warm water I feel welcome in its grasps on my skin. It seems almost like a luxury item in our dorm hall.

I briskly reach for the soap I brought, along with the other toiletries, pulling them close to the edge of the bath for easy access. Undoing my towel from my head, I watch as my long hair starts to soak in the water, becoming heavier on my head. Sinking low enough to reach my nose, my hair continues to become wet. I lean back my head hoping for a successful attempt to get the top of my head and my roots soaked as well. Pulling my head and chest above the water once more, I begin to lather my body with the smooth bar of soap, washing over my arms, torso, legs, and everything else. I thoroughly rub myself until suds covered most of my body. Plunging myself back into the water, I giggle as I watch the bubbles slowly dissipate around me.

I hear the familiar snap of the changing room door. _Oh god,_ I think to myself, in a slight panic. _Someone else is here, I'm totally dead,_ I sink to where my nose is barely peeking out, hoping to be unseen, though I'm sitting front and center at the bath. There is no way the person won't see me. I hope desperately it's a girl, chanting in my head vehemently for it to be a girl. A locker closes from the other side of the door and footsteps approach the bath.

My face burns red and I quickly turn around, realizing I don't want to be seen by whoever was coming into the room. I act like nothing is wrong and begin shampooing my hair, my nervous fingers trembling as they pull through my tangled red hair.

 _Faster, faster!_ My brain begins shouting at me. The door swings, and the footsteps stop. Their eyes peer down at me, I feel them on my back. They pierce my back, filling my stomach with relative horror as I scrub my hair even faster and with more vigor.

 _Please, please, please just go in the bath!_

"Ahiru?" The voice calls out to me. Oh god, it's a boy. I quickly pull myself underwater, rinsing out all the suds in my hair, hoping to just live under the sea of warmth. After a few seconds, I feel the large hand pull my shoulder up. I take a quick gulp of the air, still refusing to look at the familiar voice, my face the same color as the weaning sunrise.

"Ahiru, what are you doing in here?" The voice is gruff and raspy, and the hands are soft, but with calloced fingers. I know exactly who it is at this point, though I wish I didn't. Turning myself around, I make eye contact with Fakir, who is squatting down to look at me, a towel vaguely held around his hips. I take a large gulp, words stuck in the back of my throat. His narrow eyes don't seem to soften around me, even if I am in the worst situation possible.

"I-I, uhm... w-well, F-Fakir I-" my stuttering begins to flare up. My teacher and previous school mate, almost entirely nude in front of me. His eyes soften, though it's obvious he's still uncomfortable.

"Just finish up quick. I'll get in once you leave," he stands up straight, walking into the changing room. I stare at him as he walks. I never really noticed how muscular he was, though I should have expected it. He is a ballet teacher, he has to be strong enough to do a lot if difficult moves. I could tell his face was flushing a shade of rose as he left. Once I am absolutely sure he can't see me, I abruptly leave the bath and dry my body as quickly as humanly possible. Pulling into the changing room, I notice him leaning against the lockers, arms crossed and head down, seemingly ashamed to be seen in the same room as me. As soon as I enter though, he storms into the bathhouse.

I discard my towel in an empty hamper by the edge of the door and throw my robe around me, stray water droplets still dribbling down my legs and arms, staining the floor. I quickly push my feet into the shower shoes and wrap my robe around my body, quickly tying it shut. I rush to my room, the comparatively cold air nipping my exposed skin. Reaching the door, I fling it open and insert myself as quickly as possible.

Letting myself in and locking my door behind me, I feel the panic settle in my throat. My rose colored cheeks now simmer down to a soft pink. I throw off my robe and stand naked against my door, blinds still drawn so no one can see my lolita frame. Settling down even further I take a heaving sigh, and decide to throw on a sundress, perfect for moving easily and looking nice, despite being extremely lazy. I re-open my blinds and fling open the window, allowing pleasant sunshine inside. I listen for the soft chatter of birds, laying out the seed on my windowsill; the birds had been fed this morning, and lunch was looming ever so closely, so I think it best to lay out more food. As soon as the seeds hit the plaster, I watch as a number of the colorful avians flutter to me. I grin, continuing to lay out more seed for them. A small yellow bird places herself into my actual room, staring politely up at me.

"Miss Canary!" I gleefully exclaim to her, holding out my finger for her to perch. "How are you? Are the hatchlings doing well?" The bird happily chirps, her talons gently clutching my one finger.

I continue my conversation with Miss Canary, happily knowing I'm making up what she's saying so that I can love her even more. I feel her talons gently lift off, and her wings spanning bigger. I help push her out the window, watching as her wings cut the air, only barely taking a break to push herself up again. The birds are well fed now, and my job is seemingly over with until dinner rolls around. I'm honestly surprised none of the birds I care for are overweight and lethargic. Maybe it's the constant exercise of breezing through the air, or maybe it's just because they don't expect the food. Whatever the reason, it's still baffling.

A loud and unexpected knock at my door causes me to jump, almost out my window, though I manage to catch myself. _It's probably Pike and Lilie,_ I think to myself. It is almost lunch hour and we do all like going out for lunch together, so the thought isn't entirely void of reason. I brisk up to my door, whipping it open and I realize I had the wrong idea. Fakir stands over me, his demeanor a bit rustled and his body facing away from me.

"Oh, Fakir. What are you-" I begin, though Fakir is quick to cut my words.

"You're failing your morning lessons. I would like to help you get back on track. Meet me in the ballet hall in 5 minutes." He growls, not even looking at me and in a moments notice, without a response, left for the ballet hall. A bit shaken by the experience, I look down the hallway to make sure what happened wasn't just some odd hallucination. Sure enough, his backside was turned towards me as he saunters down the hallway, ever so cocky in his stride.

I step back inside my room, and realize he's not joking. I then put on my unitard, my hair in a bun, my feet in my ballet slippers, and begin following after him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sprinting out of my room, I try to zoom past every person, narrowly missing most and tripping over one. I manage to tumble, scraping both my knees to the point of bleeding, but brush it off. I swiftly apologize to the person I had run into, but have to leave as soon as I'm finished apologizing. I continue to feel sore as I rush to the ballet hall. I feel my time slowly running out, and the sweat dripping down my face is no help to my already blurry sight.

As soon as I enter the building, I curve hard into the door and practically throw it off the hinges, causing the three other failing students to be taken aback, while Fakir is standing, totally unsurprised at my flamboyant entrance. I beam at my ability to enter class on time, even if it is a remedial class. Fakir holds his head down, assigning me a place to stand next to a girl who seems to be watching Fakir with utter bliss.

*Geez,* I think to myself, *I didn't realize how many girls wanted Fakir.* Almost all girls, aside from myself, are giving Fakir at least a flirty stare. One girl starts doing her leg stretches in his direction; very open leg stretches on the ballet bar. I roll my eyes, trying to readjust my bun before the class begins. Pulling my leg onto the bar I begin stretching my sore muscles, which are still recovering from morning ballet and my swift kiss with the ground. My leg is only two-thirds of the way pulled up, though as Fakir is perusing past all of us, making sure we have proper form is what I'm assuming, he pushes me down a bit further on the bar in an attempt to make me cramp up. I, in a secure effort to make him think better of me, push myself further, even if it makes my scrapes bunch up and begin hurting. I close my eyes in a futile attempt to mask the pain. Fakir lightly raps on my shoulder with his knuckle. I open my eyes and gaze at him.

"You're bleeding. Stop stretching." Somehow, I hear a crack of actual concern in his voice through his muddled anger. I look back at my leg and notice a long red thread of blood from my scrape begin trickling toward my thigh. I squirm out of position, discomfort rising in my throat from the sight of blood.

Fakir forcibly sits me down, staring at both my knees and holding them with a gentle grip. He lets out a worried sigh, though his green eyes seem trained on warmth and gentleness. He stands, keeping a hand on my shoulder and ordering me to stay out while he strides out to the nurse. Sitting in my place, I already feel the glare of three angry girls on me. As soon as he is out of sight, the fellow ballerinas begin pestering me.

I recognize Antoinette as she approaches me, her burly figure held up by delicate legs. Her face is long and her hair is almost like brown fur; unkempt and tattered despite being kept nicely in a ponytail and bow. She leans down to me, hands on both hips, her thick frame pulling hard against her thin unitard; though even with that, she is very pretty, with flawless skin, soft brown eyes, and small perky lips. She was a large girl, but she was still attractive enough for boys to approach her.

But at this moment she did not seem interested in being friendly. The girls behind her seem to share the same tight lipped and unhappy expression. Their unitards share a little purple rim around the collar, and their buns seem to match in size. Twins, I realize.

"So, you think that just because Fakir talked to you more in freshman year, he'll want you more?" Antoinette barks, her lulling and almost motherly treatment seems to have left her from her first and second year. She seems more calculated and cold now.

"Uhh, I don't really know what you're talking about, Anty." My response is not the one what they want. Antionette points at my knees, almost implying I fell on purpose. I raise an eyebrow, letting loose a soft chuckle.

"Do... do you really think I would trip just to get Fakir to notice me..? You know I'm the queen of clumsiness, Anty." I try to raise my hands in confusion. One of the twins speaks up, her voice lower than I imagined coming from a girl like her.

"Girls will do anything to get guys to notice them! Especially guys like him." She seems as sour as her face looks. Before they can continue interrogating me, Fakirs footsteps come closer. All girls stood straight, rushing back to the positions they had been in before he had exited. Fakirs entrance immediately smooths out the girls moods, causing them to just stare and gush at him. He kneels down with a small first aide kit handy at his side.

"Everyone else, practice your twirls." His cold voice rings clear in the girls and I watch as they practice twirling as he asked. "As for you," his voice softens towards me, but not by much. Only the kind of softening you'd hear a scolding parent give a child when they fall. "I'm going to have to tend to your scrapes. While they're minor, I don't want the risk of infections and more bleeding." He opens the small box, retrieving from it a small bottle of some sort of disinfectant. Holding a rag to the opening of the unscrewed bottle, he tips it over quickly, allowing the liquid to spill over onto the rag before tipping it back up. He screws the cap back on, and informs me it may sting. I nod briefly.

We lock eyes for a split second and it's awkward. A sort of nostalgic awkward, but still awkward enough for it to be broken with a harsh sting to my knee. I cringe, my hands clamping shut and whimpering into my bitten lip.

"I know it hurts—girls, keep practicing. Try standing on point—but it'll be over with in a minute." Fakir moves onto a fresh cloth, repeating the same process on my other knee. It only lasts a few more seconds, before he places two bandages on both knees.

"You'll be fine now. Just get back to lessons." He stands up, barely looking at me, and starts directing the individual students. I stand as well as I could before. They were just minor scrapes, after all; nothing seriously detrimental to my ability to perform. And so, I begin practicing with the other girls and their basic moves...

The remedial classes finishes at the 1 o'clock bell with all of us sweating and panting heavily. Fakir is absolutely of the mindset that having all of us push ourselves to the edge will make us better. I hold to the rail, eager to get some food in me. My stomach gargles angrily, spiting me for bathing before eating. My ballet slipper barely exits the door before I realize that the lunch period has already ended. I groan, realizing I have to skip this lunch and suffer until dinner.

I stay behind in the class so I can practice my balance as Fakir procures a sack of food from his personal locker. He sits outside the class door, pulling open the cloth to reveal half a loaf of bread, two apples, and two portions of ham. My stomach howls even further, but I look away from his food, knowing it'll only make me hurt more. I continue with the instructions Fakir had given us during his lesson. I hold my feet on point with my hand on the bar, though the feeling my of large toe crushing under the pressure of my body still sends pins to my legs and hips. I bring my arm that isn't holding the bar above my head like a crescent moon. My legs keep wobbling. *God this hurts,* my thoughts seem to ramble on about the pain, before I let my other arm go, bringing it in the reverse position of my top arm.

Proudly holding the stance for at least 5 grueling seconds, I fall to the ground, my arms only barely catching my fall and preventing my first kiss being with the ballet studio floor. I sigh and bring myself up again, attempting the same thing, and only managing to fall again in the same way.

"Idiot..." I hear Fakir call to himself. He's watching and judging me now, his eyes burning into my back. I turn to him as I recover again. Pulling himself back into the room, he's obviously frustrated with me. I stand on my toes once more, trying the same thing again. My eyes close, trying to bear the pain of my toes being pressed so firmly into the wooden floor.

A moment passes, and I feel ready to fall, before two hands grab my waist and pull me back up. I look over my shoulder at Fakir who's eyes are distant, but very alert to me. He pulls me back up and starts repositioning my legs, my right in front of my left.

"Fakir, what are you doing?" He silently steps back from me, motioning to proceed with what I was doing. I stand on point, my feet quivering, but my stance full and bracing to where I know I won't fall. It's painful, but I won't be tripping. At that, i start the routine I was given in class; step front, twirl three times, stand on flat, balance on point, and lean forward with arms outstretched.

I return to my relaxed position, feet regaining feeling as they mesh with the floor holding me much better than before. I turn to Fakir, who has a hint of a smile across his lips. I beam brightly at him, crossing my way toward him. He stiffens, his hands grasping at his hips as he towers above me. Before words even wrap around my tongue, he pulls one of his ham portions out and holds it out to me, offering it without hesitation. I stare at it, unsure if this is a cruel joke or genuine kindness, from him, it was always a game of chance.

"Are you sure..?" I prod at the meat, making sure it wasn't something else. It was, without a doubt, ham.

"Yeah. I'm not going to let you starve. I know you didn't have time to eat." He seems stoic, but his cheeks change into a shade darker. At that, I take the food, thanking him. He nods and lets me have his spare apple and a portion of his bread. As school mates, he absolutely hated me and would have cared less if I starved for days on end. Something, somehow, had changed in him. Right now I don't know what it is, but I'm glad that it changed him. Thanking him, he simply nods and grabs the remainder of his things and saunters to his dorm, I assume.

I sit outside the ballet hall, nibbling on all the food I was given, managing to cram it down before class starts. I know I'm going to regret that decision, but it's fine. As I lift myself from the ground, my bones give a satisfactory pop. Pike and Lilie approach me from halfway down the hall, Lillie giving a joyous wave with Pike holding her hips and giving a loving smile.

"What are you doing here so early, Ahiru? You're never this early to afternoon lessons," Lilie exclaims, taking my hands into hers and her golden curls bouncing around her porcelain face. I shrug, a bit flustered and uncomfortable with their sudden appearance but it's to be expected from them since they are better than me and always punctual.

"Oh, Fakir asked me to come down for remedial lessons." I can't lie to them, they'll see right through me into my tiny girlish heart. Both stare, Lilie holds my hands and squeezes tighter. Her eyes soften to me, and smiles resurface after a few seconds.

"Aw, poor little Ahiru! Always a little behind on her studies!" Lilie pulls me into a thrusting hug which sends me forward a bit too much, as though I'm a small child who's in constant need of reassurance. I hug back, knowing her too well to assume she'd honestly think of me as a baby. Pike chimes in, her brown eyes shimmering as she coos at me.

"At least Fakir is trying to help you." Pike pats my shoulder as Lilie releases her motherly embrace. Our trio makes our way into the room, waiting patiently for Mr. Katt to arrive in class. We chat about mild things, books, birds. Somehow the conversation derails at the mention of the one guy who I have fallen truly in love with.

"Mytho has gotten pretty famous since he left," Lilie pipes up, her swoon reviving, but in favor of my interests. I feel a small grin tug at my mouth, a shy fumble of my fingers. Mytho is someone I've been pining over for two full years. He has a blossoming career as a professional ballerino, in magnificent productions for someone who is just barely 18. We had gone to see him in the nutcracker, and he was amazing.

"Yeah. He sure is amazing." A dreamy lull fills my voice. He's such a fantastic ballerino dancer, his glistening white hair that paled stars, snowy skin, and those captivating hazel eyes. How could anyone have resisted him? I tune out, thinking about that one time we spoke. It wasn't about much, just birds, weather, and his lessons. His voice was soft, almost songbird like. I feel my cheeks flush thinking about how well he danced in the higher class. How light he looked, how dreamy his expression was. That boy seemed like he was always in a daydream.

"Yeah, didn't you hear? Him and Rue are getting married next weekend." My happy memory snaps in two. Feeling my muscles struggle to look at them, I hesitate to ask.

"Married? Where'd you hear that?" My face pales, fear sinking far into my stomach as Pike smooths herself to my side and raps her hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, Ahiru... it'll be okay. We know you liked him and all, but..." Lillie tries to console my, her fingers twirling a free strand of my hair.

Before words begin to escape my mouth, our teacher stalks his way into the class, abruptly closing our conversation. We turn to him, only just realizing a good three-fourths of the class is already here. We turn to face him, Pike and Lillie removing their hands and arms from me, but I still feel their comfort.

Our instructor, Mr. Katt is a very strange fellow. He's very tall and seems almost out of shape, but his performances are always supportive of his body. His brown body hair is almost everywhere, ever-present amounts always poking out of somewhere. His green eyes are always poised outside of the room, giving him a glossy stare during lessons. As the last trickle of students file into the room, the classes begin.


End file.
